


But Never Have I Been a Blue Calm Sea

by thefairfleming



Category: The White Princess (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:12:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: Only a few hours ago, she would’ve told him that an apology was not enough, not for this. But what’s passed between them tonight seems louder than words, and while the fire may not have achieved her aims, it seems to have burned away all that doesn’t matter now.





	But Never Have I Been a Blue Calm Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Set post 1x07 because woooow, that episode was Not Good, and clearly needed more angsty sex.

When he comes to her bed that night, still smelling of smoke, she very nearly refuses him.

Lizzie has not forgotten the sinking in her stomach at finding his chambers empty late in the night, nor the fury she’d felt as whispers hissed behind her back. And her nerves are frayed, her mind a muddle, guilt and fear making her nearly sick.  _ Seek solace elsewhere since that is apparently your wont, _ she almost says.

But there’s something in his eyes that kills the words on her tongue, and when he reaches out, his hand resting against her waist, the heat of his palm seems to burn through her nightdress. It’s quiet in her room, only the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth and her own harsh breathing, and suddenly all Lizzie wants is to lose herself in him. To strip away these past few weeks of fear and uncertainty and pain, to wipe her mind blank with pleasure.

Maybe that’s what Henry wants as well because he kisses her far rougher than he usually does, his hands gripping her hard enough to leave bruises. It’s been so long, too long, since they were together like this, and his touch, his kiss, the fear still clutching at her heart, seems to make something within Lizzie break.

She’s never been shy in their bed, and she’s always known that Henry loves that about her, but she has never been this bold, either, pushing him to his knees there at the edge of her bed, one hand on his shoulder, the other already pulling her nightdress up her legs. She does not bother lying back on the bed because she wants it like this, her feet planted on the floor, Henry a supplicant.

_ Did you do this to her? _ that small and vicious part of her mind wants to ask, and the thought of it, of him kneeling for another woman, of him unstitching her with lips and tongue as he has so often done to Lizzie, makes her want to howl with rage.

So her grip on his hair is overly tight, her cries louder than she usually gives vent to. She knows there is no real privacy for a king and queen, not even here, in the most private of their rooms, but let them hear her, let them know their king is where he belongs, on his knees before her.

It doesn’t last long, given how long it’s been and the emotions of this night, but she’s barely had time to gasp for breath, still shaking and shuddering, as Henry rises from his knees, pushing off his dressing gown, his breathing harsh, his eyes nearly wild. It’s that wildness that calls to her, makes her turn and press her stomach to the edge of the mattress, her nightgown still rucked around her waist. 

It’s rare that he takes her this way. She’s always preferred looking in his face as they make love, always enjoyed being able to kiss him and watch the way his eyes roam over her body. But tonight, she wants this, wants him at her back, her fingers digging into the sheets, his hands gripping her hips. 

Wants to hear how ragged her name sounds on his lips when she reaches down to touch herself as he thrusts inside of her. 

Afterwards, they strip off their nightclothes, crawling up onto the bed and falling easily into each other’s arms, as they’ve done for so many nights over the years, and while everything within Lizzie still feels jangled and raw, there’s peace, too.  _ Like the aftermath of a storm _ , she thinks, almost dreamily. This is where they’ve always been able to find each other again, in each other’s arms, each other’s bodies, and they lay there, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back.

“Did you make love to her?” she finally asks. The question still hurts to ask, but it’s easier somehow, lying here in his arms, knowing that no matter what he may have done, he is hers.

His fingers pauses for only a moment before resuming their slow drag against her skin, and she thinks he might not answer at all.

She wonders if that might not be for the best.

“You know I did not,” he says at last, and Lizzie hears it for the truth it is. Henry has wounded her and infuriated her, but he has never lied to her, not even in the beginning when every word between them was designed to sting or flay.

“Did you want to?” she asks, and she’s surprised by his slight huff of laughter. Lifting her head, she finds him smiling at her, looking more like himself than he has in ages. One hand is curled behind his head, resting on the pillow beneath him, and his blue eyes are sleepy with pleasure and affection. Lizzie wonders if what just transpired between them has healed something in him as well.

“How could I want any other woman when I have you in my bed?” He says it so plainly that she knows it’s not meant to flatter or appease, and satisfied, Lizzie settles her head under his chin again, her fingers playing in the hair on his chest.

“You hurt me,” she says. It’s easier to say when she’s not looking at him, and she can both feel and hear his sigh.

“I know,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the top her head. “And I am sorry.”

Only a few hours ago, she would’ve told him that an apology was not enough, not for this. But what’s passed between them tonight seems louder than words, and while the fire may not have achieved her aims, it seems to have burned away all that doesn’t matter now.

“What can we do?” Henry murmurs in the silence. It’s a plaintive echo of a question she asked him years ago, when things were very different between them. 

Holding him tighter, Lizzie fixes her eyes on the flame in the grate before them.

“What we must.”


End file.
